


A Grimm Adventure

by DatAsymptote



Category: Lego Ninjago
Genre: F/M, Gen, fairytale AU, the jaya won't be a major element of the plot so do not worry if it's not your thing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-06
Updated: 2017-03-17
Packaged: 2018-03-29 07:16:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3887176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DatAsymptote/pseuds/DatAsymptote
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A young blacksmith is destined to rescue an estranged sibling from an evil Snow King. Accompanied by a dancer with a shoe obsession and an exiled prince, the three form an unstoppable trio. Kingdoms away, a young boy is attempting to regain his princely status, while making his benefactor human again. At the same time, a charming princess is preparing for war.</p><p>Basically, a Fairytale AU for Ninjago that's a huge mash-up of D'Aulnoy's The Blue Bird, Grimm's The Seven Ravens and Iron Hans, and Andersen's the Red Shoes and the Snow Queen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Nightingale Bird-en

Nya had returned home with her arms laden with fish and vegetables.

 

A tall, pale-skinned woman sat in the courtyard, sipping tea with Nya’s mother. Nya arched a confused eyebrow at the strange sight. The village she lived in was small, and as the blacksmith, Nya knew the names and faces of everyone. The townspeople had round faces, upturned noses and hair dark as a carrion crow, while this woman’s face was long, gaunt and pale as a ghost, with wide lips and a nose that resembled an eagle’s beak. This peculiar face was framed with hair as gold as the sun and long as the branches of a weeping willow.

 

Travellers and visitors were rare, coming in the forms of the odd performance group or a young adventurer. The lady was at least her mother’s age, if not a couple decades more. She was dressed too finely to be a performer, and sipped tea so nonchalantly that she could not be on a quest.

 

Nya stood awkwardly near the gates, pushing them shut with an elbow. She smiled a bit nervously at the tea-sipping duo, before placing her groceries down under the verandah.

 

“Ah, if this isn’t Nya!” the tall woman turned to Nya, her mouth curling in a friendly smile. “I thought it would be good for me to visit. We have important news to discuss.”

 

“Important news?” asked Nya, pulling out a chair, and seating herself down on the courtyard table.

 

“Indeed.” The woman snapped her fingers. The porcelain kettle hovered in the air, pouring a stream of jasmine tea into a clean teacup for Nya.

 

Nya’s eyes widened at the hovering teapot. This woman was a sorceress, or some magical spirit, something that was certainly more interesting than an average traveller. If her mother was willing to have tea with her, then the sorceress surely had to be benevolent. “Magical users don’t come here often,” she said. “What brings you to our house?”

 

“This lady has come to talk to you,” Nya’s mother replied, taking the teapot and pouring herself another round. “She believes you have a destiny to fulfill.”

 

A destiny? Now that was something. Nya straightened up in her seat. “I have a destiny?” she said. The words felt weird in her mouth.

 

“Of course!” the lady beamed down at her. “Everyone has a destiny, from the richest emperor to the loneliest pauper! Your one is particularly spectacular, I might add.”

 

Nya smiled. She hadn’t considered much of the concept of destiny, thinking that she would spend her whole life running her late father’s blacksmith shop. “That’s comforting to hear,” she said.

 

“I’ll leave you two to discuss this alone,” Nya’s mother rose from her seat, picking up the teapot.

 

Turning to the sorceress, Nya asked, “So, what am I actually going to do with my life?”

 

“I have no idea. That’s your destiny. I don’t know where you end, I don’t know all the details in the middle, but I do know what you’re supposed to do,” the sorceress inspected her nails, before facing Nya directly. “I’m your godmother, benefactor, whatever people call us these days,” she said. “I’ve been with you since the week you were born, and the day you lost your brother.”

 

At the mention of her brother, Nya grimaced. She never remembered Kai. He had been missing for 18 years, much to the dismay of the townspeople. Even almost two decades later, Nya would hear other talk of an energetic young boy, and what a shame it was to lose him.

 

“It’s my fault for his disappearance, isn’t it?” Nya said, covering her mouth with a palm. “That’s why _they_ say.”

 

The townspeople talked to Nya as little as possible – a difficult feat when she ran the only blacksmith shop for miles. _It’s a shame that she’s so plain_ , they would chime amongst themselves. _For her birth brought forth her brother’s demise_.

 

The sorceress did not reply. Instead, she sighed, tracing the edge of her teacup with a perfectly manicured finger.

 

Nya looked at the sorceress blankly.

 

“Your brother was cursed into a bird when he disappeared. None of it was your fault.”

 

“Thank the gods,” Nya said, relieved.

 

“You were a week old. Week old babies aren’t able to do magic as complex as the spell placed on your brother. Don’t flatter yourself and pretend you have innate magical abilities when you don’t.”

 

Instead of looking insulted, Nya looked even more relieved. Finally, she had some evidence against those asinine gossipers!

 

The sorceress did not meet Nya’s eyes. “But your family’s still responsible. It was your father who cursed your brother and forced me to transform him.”

 

“But why would he do that?” Nya asked. Her father expressed nothing but sorrow every time her brother was mentioned. Her mother told her that her father loved Kai the most, and that he always hoped for Kai to run his business when older. On his deathbed, her father asked not for Nya, but for Kai. Eighteen years without him, but Kai was still his favourite child.

 

“Typical save-a-witch, gain-a-wish scenario,” the sorceress said, her eyes travelling to the sky. “He rescued me from a weeping willow when I was a stag, and got a wish.” At that, the sorceress paused, lowering her glance onto Nya. “Listen, Nya. One day you might be given a wish. It’s a popular gift from witches, you see. Be careful of your words, because your father wasn’t. Being emotional and losing control of your words can lead to a lost life.”

 

Nya nodded, as if to say ‘go on’.

“So, I turned him into a bird. Nothing major. I kept him in a cage, and he would sing. Kai’s bird form was a nightingale, after all. They’re beautiful birds, with beautiful voices.” The sorceress sighed. “I kept him safe, and I treated him like my son.”

“The reason for my visit is your brother,” now, the sorceress’ tone of voice sounded pained, as if she felt guilty about something. “He’s disappeared once more. I opened his cage to let him stretch his wings, and he was swept by wind currents to the north-west. I was highly concerned, following him to ensure his safety, but I got to him too late.”

 

Nya’s hands tightened into a fist. _What a disappointment_ , she thought. She was hoping to meet his brother sometime soon once she learnt he was alive and that she was destined for something great, and now that hope was shattered.

 

The sorceress noticed Nya’s glare. “Oh no! Nya, sweetie, please don’t be too concerned for your brother. He’s not dead.”

 

“He’s still _gone_ ,” Nya said, bitter. She thought of a small nightingale being swept by the winds, shot down by hunters or imprisoned by Middle Kingdom emperors. Would Kai being dead have been any different to Kai being alive? Nya never knew him. She never thought to have any sort of emotional connection to him.

 

But Kai… he was still a part of her life, wasn’t he? He was her burden. His recklessness, his disappearance, he was the reason for the guilt Nya carried.

 

The sorceress reached into her bag, pulling out a golden bracelet, with a red stone set in it. The stone pulsed, glowing brighter almost every second. “He’s alive,” she said. “If he were dead, then this bracelet would have stopped pulsing. So either your brother is lost, or he’s been taken.”

The sorceress unrolled a map from her bag. She placed teacups on the corners to weigh it down, before pointing to a circled location. It was completely isolated, with no sign of humanity for miles.

 

“There,” she said. “That was where I last saw him.”

 

Nya looked at the map, studying it thoughtfully. Her eyes widened, and she gasped. “That’s… near the North.”

 

“Precisely.”

 

“It’s snow-covered and cold,” she said. “How on earth could a nightingale survive?”

 

The sorceress grinned, as if this was all a game. “That’s for you to work out, and for you to tell me if you survive!”

 

“Oh, thanks,” Nya said.

 

“You’re welcome!” the sorceress smiled. “Nothing to do with your brother has been your fault, but it’s still your destiny is rescue that chap!”

 

“Oh.”

 

“You must talk to the sun. It was in the daytime when he was lost. If the sun does not respond, ask the moon, she sees what he does not.”

 

Nya opened her mouth to ask how on earth she was supposed to talk to celestial objects, but closed it again. She knew that the sorceress would just reprimand her again, telling her to work it out herself.

 

“People have talked to the sun and moon for centuries,” the sorceress added. “Why, I knew this girl who had her pet lark to fly upwards and ask the sun about the whereabouts of her husband!”

 

“Oh.”

 

“Rescusing one’s brother or husband is so common amongst adventurers in this world,” the sorceress said. “Don’t you want to be like one of the brave girls you’ve always admired?”

 

Nya nodded. “Of course I have. This… it all just feels so sudden, you know? You’re kicking me out of my house, telling me to rescue a brother who I’ve never known…”

 

“It’s your destiny.”

 

“But, what is destiny? Why do I have to comply with it?”

 

The sorceress opened her mouth, as if to answer, but no words to come out. “… I don’t know,” she said. “But you’re supposed to rescue your brother and break his curse.”

 

Nya slouched in her chair. “Fine. I’ll do it. But how do I carry out this destiny, persay? Break his curse, get him into a human form.”

 

The sorceress rolled her eyes, and slumped across the table, frustrated. “Why must every single legacy ask this question?” she said, throwing her hands up. “I don’t know! None of us know! You probably won’t even know, but somehow, you’ll know what to do!”

 

“That makes no sense!”

 

“It’s your destiny, I say that you listen to your heart. Guide yourself with your moral compass, act on instinct, et cetera, et cetera.”

 

“That’s a lot to take in,” Nya said with a frown, watching the sorceress rise from her seat to prepare to leave.

 

“And don’t be afraid to ask for help! The world looks kindly on fairytale adventurers,” the sorceress swung her bag over her shoulders. “Be nice to people and animals! They’ll usually reward you later, if they aren’t jerkasses.”

 

“Oh, thanks,” Nya said. “It’s not like treating things kindly wasn’t a thought that occurred to me before.”

 

“Don’t give me that attitude,” the sorceress snapped her fingers. “Now, turn around. I must cut your hair.”

 

“What?”

 

“I said, I must c–“

 

Nya sighed. “I’m sorry, Auntie, but are you suggesting that this adventure, destiny-thing, means kicking me out of the village?”

 

“Oh, no, not the slightest! I mean, of course, perhaps a little, since you may never return and live your life elsewhere,” the lady stammered, lowering her hands.

 

“…”

 

“… but I do apologise, most severely! I meant no harm by forgetting the implications of hair-cutting in this day and age.”

 

“…”

 

“…”

 

“It’s alright,” Nya said, with a sigh. “Feel free to cut my hair.”

 

“Thank you! Thank you!” the sorceress smiled. “There’s not much to cut, but I hear long hair has been such a burden now. I do recall talking to some mermaids a few months ago, who cut their hair. Said that hair’s selling at such a high price on the fairy black market!”

 

Nya nodded, taking in the sorceress’ every word. If she were to go on some magnificent adventure, street knowledge was always handy.

 

“Such a shame that your hair is already so short, I won’t be able to get anything too remarkable from it,” the sorceress sighed, and snapped her fingers. Instantly, as if it were sliced with an invisible knife, locks of Nya’s hair fell from its strands, and hovered upwards. The sorceress opened up a little pouch, and each lock floated in the pouch. “Perfect!” she said, satisfied. “You look great! The splitting image of a beginning adventurer.”

 

“I would agree with you, if I had a mirror,” Nya said. “I don’t have a mirror, but I’m going to agree with you anyway. I look great all the time.”

 

“That’s the spirit! Now, go forth, and inspire people!”

 

Nya laughed, fiddling with the ends of her hair. “And rescue my brother?”

 

“Most definitely. I didn’t come here to be your hairdresser. I’m your benefactor and your brother’s godmother. Everything I do will be in your best interest. Now, have you considered when to leave?”

 

“A week at the most, I would say,” said a voice from across the courtyard. Nya’s mother leaned again the doorframe, holding a fresh pot of tea. “Nya, you look beautiful. I’m sure that short hair will come in handy one day.” Walking over to the duo, she added. “As much as I would love for you to rescue our Kai as soon as possible, we must keep the blacksmith business running. I can manage the finances fine, but we’ll have to find someone to craft the goods. And of course, there’s still the issue of ensuring we send you on your adventure enough resources to keep you going.”

 

The sorceress smiled warmly at her. “Lovely, lovely!” she said, clasping her arms together. “Looks like you two have the other destiny-shenanigans sorted. Now, I must honestly be going. I have a meeting with a few enchantresses. They need some expert advice on how to turn their stepsons into birds. Goodbye!”

 

Before Nya could even open her mouth to wish the sorceress farewell, the sorceress spun around, her skirts sweeping the ground, before vanishing. The only trace of the sorceress left in the room was the glowing red bracelet, and the map, full of doodles and notes.

 

Nya ran her hand over the border of the map, rolling it up. _Kai_ , she thought, clutching the map. _We mightn’t be close, but I’m still coming to rescue you._


	2. We'll Never Be Royals (Royals)

The wise man lowered his cup of tea, blinking slowly at the king kneeling in front of him. “Pray, do tell, what troubles your mind?”

 

“I am concerned about my son,” the king replied in a bitter tone, laced with fretfulness.

 

A sigh escape the wise man. “Sons give us concerns constantly. What differs your concerns from those of ordinary folk?”

 

The king echoed the wise man’s sigh. “My son, Jay, he’s… different. I hate to say it, but his actions concern me. Other princes would be on adventures and battling foes. Jay cares too much for girls out of his league, and above all, he cares for new weaponry and machinery.”

 

“There’s nothing wrong about a young man with passion.”

 

“But is he, well, having the right sorts of passion? I wish he would… go out and discover his destiny like ordinary princes. But all he does is frolic in fields and write love letters to girls who never reply. And please, address me as ‘your Majesty’.”

 

“Wise men living on the mountains do not bother to recognise the monarchy,” the wise man laughed, stroking his beard. “And please, do not taint yourself with worry for your son. He will have his adventure and perhaps a sweetheart soon enough. A late-blooming prince is still a prince nonetheless.”

 

The king nodded in acknowledgement of the man’s words, but did not care to consider them. “Another concern of mine are trade routes. Since you mentioned Jay having a potential sweetheart, I believe it’s about time for my heir to be married. Does it not make sense for him to be wed to a kingdom that provides an efficient way of enhancing our economy?”

 

“If you deem it necessary, so be it,” the wise man nodded solemnly. “I may illuminate the path of your future, but I do not dictate it. Your destiny is completely in your control.”

 

“If my destiny is in my control, then why do the bards still sing about the fates?” the king inquired, his smirk becoming increasingly arrogant. _This old man speaks naught but riddles_ , he thought, _but riddles always have a loophole._

 

A smile curled up on the lips of the wise man. “Because if I said that fate could be controlled in the same way destiny can be, I will be watering the seeds of a beautiful lie.” This shows

 

“But anyway, my son, his fate, is it good? Does he end up financially stable? Is his wife beautiful and brave?” the king asked, the tone of his voice increasing to a panic.

 

The wise man rolled his eyes at the king, hitting him with a sharp glare. “I had advised you not to fret, and you’re doing so now.”

 

“I do apologise,” the king bowed his head downwards. “Before I go, old man, is there anything I should be wary of?”

 

“King Ed Walker,” the words hung in the air like mist. “You are not a king of people or society. You are a king of industry and the economy. Remember this, and do not let it become your misfortune.”

 

* * *

 

 

It was a mild, spring day. Jay had been seated in one of the many benches in the royal gardens, sketching the wings of birds and humming the latest ballad composed by a celebrated town musician, when Lloyd ran up to the prince.  

 

“Your Highness! I’ve heard her lady, Princess Charming, will be visiting this week! Isn’t this exciting?” the gardener’s boy said, his eyes lighting up.

 

Jay slammed his sketchbook shut. “When did you find that out, Lloyd? That’s wonderful! She’s so brilliant! I’ve got all these inventions I need to show her! I hardly know any other princes or princesses into this sort of stuff!”

 

“You hear a lot of things when you’re unassuming and quiet. The maids were all gossiping about it, and didn’t even notice me!”

 

The prince chuckled. “Ha! Classic Lloyd! Sometimes I don’t even know what things you get up to. You’re a shining example of palace servants, you know that?”

 

Lloyd cringed a little at Jay’s comment, but Jay didn’t notice. Instead, the prince stood up, tucked his book under his arm, and began to advance his way towards the castle.

 

“Do you understand how great this is? I’ve been working on so many projects lately, and none of them has been appreciated!” Jay continued to talk. “This is so awesome, Charming and I can have the greatest alliance of machinery and complex engineering!”

 

“A _romantic_ alliance?”

 

The prince’s response was quick and automatic. “Naaaaah.”

 

Lloyd arched an eyebrow, and quickly did a run and skip to catch up with the prince. “But haven’t you seen her portrait! She’s absolutely stunning. They say she’s the cleverest princess in this land, and rich too! What wouldn’t you want from this alliance? Look, I’ve even prepared stuff for you to give her. That’s saying something.”

 

“She’s a bit too pale for my liking, I guess?” Jay said, tilting his head. “And her eyes, they’re too piercing. It’s rather freaky.”

 

Lloyd rolled his eyes. “Don’t let that worry you, Your Highness. Pale skin is an image of beauty. I mean, what are you, a yellow chaser?”

 

Jay laughed. “Lloyd, there is nothing wrong with preferring girls who see the sun! After all, are you not a gardener? Shouldn’t you be one of the people who, well, admire and live in the sun?”

 

“Oh, no, not one bit,” Lloyd shook his head. “My skin’s too pale, it burns. There’s a reason why I wear a hat.” And it was not just because of his pale skin. Lloyd thought about his hair. His benefactor, his guardian, always told Lloyd that there was no one with hair as gold as his – that his hair was shame, and should be covered. “My face should never resemble an over-ripe tomato!”

 

The prince laughed at if Lloyd had told a joke. “So, you said that you prepared something for her Lady Charming? What is it?”

 

Lloyd smiled, and waved a hand to a nearby greenhouse. “I’ve arranged a display of wildflowers for her. It’s very colourful! I’m sure she’ll like it as much as she likes you.”

 

“Wildflowers?!” Jay almost dropped his book, his mouth falling open in shock. “Why wildflowers? Isn’t Charming too, well, sophisticated? Too cultured? Too civilised for wildflowers?”

 

Lloyd blinked slowly, looking deeply insulted. “Wildflowers have a stronger smell,” he said in a confused, yet stubborn tone. “She’ll appreciate it.”

 

“Lloyd, come on! I’m pretty sure royals don’t stick their noses into flowers, especially flowers as plain as wildflowers!” Jay said to the gardener boy.

 

Lloyd arched a confused eyebrow. “But you do.”

 

The other boy simply sighed. “Yes, but will Lady Charming? You know how the bards sing about her. I can’t just offer her a bouquet of wildflowers and be all, ‘ _hello Lady Charming_ : _here’s a bonquet of flowers. Why don’t you smell them and get pollen on your nose?_ ’” The prince mimed some actions, extending a hand to a nearby rosebush as if were a lady, and waved his other arm as if he carried a bouquet of flowers.

 

“But, Your Highnes–” Lloyd said.

 

“Lloyd, don’t interrupt me. This is important. What if she’s not impressed by my work?” Jay sighed. “I can’t do anything but make stuff. I can’t swing a sword to save my life, I can’t write poetry. If it’s not scientific or artistic, I just can’t do it. If Charming isn’t impressed by what I do, then no one will be!”

 

“Awesome flower arrangements are impressive.” Lloyd said. “You know, your Highness, you should really stop worrying and focus on h–”. But before he could finish the sentence, Jay had already left, sprinting in the most unprincely manner towards the palace.

 

* * *

 

King Ed Walker was, once again, concerned with the economy. The number of exports were decreasing and unemployment was increasing, and optimal trade routes were becoming more different to secure.

 

And then there was his son.

 

Ever since his conversation with the wise man, the King had thought about the future adventure that his son would partake. However, months had passed, and Jay expressed no interest in the big wide world. If his son was destined for adventure, wouldn’t Jay have an intense yearning to explore? This world was full of dragons to fight, dwarves in forests to visit, and witches to be cursed by. Yet, Jay simply sat in gardens, sketched flowers and pined over girls. It was sickeningly pathetic, the king thought.

 

Ed wished that Jay would at least pine over the right kind of girls, who had financial stability and owned a kingdom with plenty of goods and services. Even when Jay did, they never replied.

 

That worried the King. He was severely concerned for his son’s future.

 

He did recall one time when Jay received a reply. Once, returning from a trip to a rather well-off kingdom, Jay told his father that the princess there would refuse to kiss him when he arrived, dressed like a prince, but would give him a hundred kisses and more when disguised as a swineherd. And so, he refused any proposal from her after that.

 

Now, Ed knew that Jay was involving himself in an alliance with Princess Charming, who was quite possibly the cleverest girl in the land. However, it was obvious that any relationship between them was strictly platonic, no matter how a possible marriage would enhance the kingdom’s trading routes. That was a disappointment. Charming was one of the few princesses that Jay had an amicable relationship with, and he wasn’t the slightest bit interested in marrying her.

 

At that moment, Jay burst into the throne room, twittering with excitement about Charming’s visit this week. The King rolled his eyes at his son. Jay didn’t notice, continuing to sprint through the throne room and up the stairwell.

 

The King let out a sigh, thinking about his son, who had once spurned a rich princess who languished for him, and now refused to partner up with a clever one. What did he do to deserve such an idealistic, quixotic son? “Please excuse me,” he said, rising from his throne to face his council. “How do I teach my son to act his part?”

 

The council all pulled their heads together, muttering and murmuring among themselves. Their quiet discussion continued for ten good minutes. The tension in the throne room grew, and several nobles fidgeted nervously.

 

When the council finally finished, the councilmen all leaned back in their seats with satisfied smiles. The head advisor, however, stood up from his seat, his smile slightly wider than the rest:

 

“Your Majesty, I’ve heard stories of a recent punishment suitable for rebellious royals. You simply lock up the troublesome little prince in an isolated tower for a few months or years, stock him with food, and await for a fair maiden or gallant princess to ride by and rescue him. It’s the _perfect plan_.”

 

“But would that not separate me from my son?” the King inquired.

 

“So would marriage, my lord, and I see that you have no qualms about that.”

 

“Hmm…” the king frowned, stroking his beard with a gloved hand. “If this is what it takes to teach my son a lesson, I will see to it! We must purchase an available tower as soon as possible, and relocate my son.”

 

The advisor grinned again. “Not only that, m’lord. Any young heroine willing to retrieve him would gain his gratitude, and the prince would have to marry her! After all, who was the girl who rescued him from his predicament, and shouldn’t she win something in return?”

 

The frown of the king lessened. “You speak well. A lesson for my son, and a solution to a troubling problem! This is an offer that I cannot refuse.”

 

“I am pleased to hear that, sire. Your Majesty, this must be carried out before the Queen returns. I do not wish to see her grief-stricken face.” The advisor stood up, and bowed before the king, before leaving the throne room, his boots tapping the marble floors softly like a drum. The other councilmen also rose, trailing after the advisor like a percussion line in a marching band.

 

The King returned to his throne, and rubbed his stubble in slight frustration. He knew his wife wouldn’t return to the kingdom for at least a month, and arranging a tower would take a week at the most. Pulling out a sheet of parchment, he began to order an isolated-tower-for-troubled-royals from the cheapest company available.

 

_Dear Gothel Industries,_

_Please arrange a medium-sized tower containing supplies that would last nine months, and a convenient loudspeaker near the bottom._


	3. Love is War

Princess Charming was, as everyone suspected, the charmingest.

When she swung herself off a steam-powered locomotive, she looked every inch a fairytale princess – clever, industrious, dignified. In other words, two things Jay wanted to be, and one thing that he never could be.

“Your Highness, Princess Pixal Charming, it is an honour to have you visit our humble kingdom,” said the footman.

“Thank you.” Her voice was soft and careful, sounding like a general planning an attack. “I’m honoured to be here, amongst the Walkers, in a kingdom most appreciative towards my father, King Cyrus’ technology.”

Pixal walked as if she stood on a tightrope. Her methodical steps were slower than most people. Whatever emotions turned within her, she was masked with a face of confidence and pride. Here, was a princess self-aware and composed. The guards bowed deeper to her than any other person, even members of their own royal family. The princess commanded respect like the moon commanded tides. It was a frighteningly, almost godlike, power.

Jay was, in all respects, impressed by his friend. “Isn’t she amazing?” he whispered to Lloyd.

“Hmmm,” Lloyd replied, in a tone that indicated nothing. “She doesn’t seem as cool as the papers make her out to be. I’m kinda disappointed.” He looked at the princess, and frowned deeply. She was supposed to be naturally stunning, but Lloyd could obviously tell she was wearing makeup. “She’s so high maintenance, look at her. Her face’s caked with foundation.”

“So what?” Jay said. “It’s her face. Girls and their faces don’t live to please irresponsible princes and irrelevant servant boys.”

Lloyd turned away from the prince, crossing his arms in defense. Irrelevant servant boys. The three words echoed in his mind. He pretended that the words didn’t hurt. After six years, he should have been used to them. Lloyd couldn’t blame Jay – the poor prince didn’t know that one of this most loyal servants used to be so much more than an irrelevant servant boy.

Jay ignored him, obviously. Instead, he flounced off, over to Pixal, rambling about the latest technological developments and asking her something about when her father could start implementing a high-speed wire throughout the country.

The two royals walked together, side-by-side, trading recent anecdotes and potential new ideas. Jay introduced Pixal to his father, who welcomed Pixal warmly, but when her back was turned, frowned at Jay, evidently annoyed that their relationship was still platonic.

Then there was the garden, where Jay handed his friend the wildflowers. Pixal’s face fell.

“Don’t you like them?” asked Jay, wondering if he did anything wrong.

“… they’re very colourful,” Pixal murmured. Although she hugged the bouquet, Pixal looked disappointed.

Jay nervously added, “wildflowers have a stronger smell,” remembering what Lloyd told him. They had two hours of straight conversation already, and Jay didn’t want their friendship to end because of disappointing flowers.

“I don’t have a sense of smell,” she said.

A frowned crossed the prince’s face. “Well, then, I guess I’ll have to get to something else! To the cherry blossoms!” Grabbing onto Pixal’s face, Jay led her to a small grove of Sakura trees in the courtyard. The pink petal covered the floor so thickly that the ground was hardly visible.

Pixel’s crestfallen face turned into a smile. “Now, that is stunning.”

“We got the trees from the king of a neighbouring island,” Jay said, proudly. “He’s so cool! Apparently he’s so generous, he sends gifts to people all the time.”

“Was this the king who sent the Middle Kingdom a gold and bronze replica of their beloved nightingale?” asked Pixal.

Jay nodded. “And it was glorious! The mechanics behind it, it was so great… I just wish I could have gotten the blueprint behind it or something. And… and… using steampowdered pneumatics in the wings… seriously, work of pure engineering brilliance…”

As Lloyd came over, to lead Pixal and Jay to the greenhouse, he took a long look at the two. They were perfect, he thought as he observed their banter and their stance.

He watched them – Jay’s hand on Pixal’s arm – as their conversation progressed, their words becoming increasingly technical.

Lloyd thought about when Jay said that he never felt anything romantic towards Pixal, no matter how many people expected him to. He thought about how Pixal seemed to feel the same way. For some reason, their platonic alliance meant something to him. Lloyd felt validated, but he didn’t know why.

When Lloyd was positive that Pixal and Jay were fine by themselves and the colourful flowers nearby, he turned and left, advancing towards the forest.

\----

“Pythor? You there?” Lloyd moved through the trees, peering around for any signs of purple. He paused, before breaking out into a sprint. The trees disappeared behind him, and the emptiness of the forest surrounded him like mist. Lloyd breathed heavily, his arms swinging by his side. Once again, he stood and peered. “Pythor?”

“By your side as always, Lloyd. What is your problem this time?” Huddled behind a hood, stood a tall, towering man. A glint of a smile shone beneath his cloak.

“Pythor!” Lloyd said, pulling the man into a hug. “Don’t worry about my problems – how have you been?”

“Fine,” he replied curtly. “Guarding the forest, moving from place to place, preventing people from touching my pond like you did. My problems are few, and those that I’m burdened with can be solved with time.”

Lloyd cringed. “Ouch, that sounds terrible, Pythor. How can I help you?”

“Lloyd, child,” said the man. He removed his hood, the soft fabric falling down across his shoulders. His face, now covered in dark purple scales, had been attractive once. Pythor narrowed his snake-slit eyes down at Lloyd. “Do not bother helping me. Think of helping yourself. I am your benefactor, and I should be the one helping you.”

“You’re so kind, Pythor,” Lloyd said down on the grassy floor, removing his hat. His golden hair spilled out, glistening in the sunlight. “I didn’t do anything to deserve this.”

“You rescued me, Lloyd. In return, I’m going to rescue you.”

\----

“War is coming,” Pixal looked towards the sky, a nervous smile toying on her face. “The treaty signed by nearby kingdoms are starting to tie up with each other, and I’m afraid that even the smallest incident could set off a country-wide war. I’m concerned for my kingdom’s safety, and I need your expertise.”

“My expertise?” said Jay. “I don’t have any expertise.”

Pixal laughed. “Oh, yes you do. Don’t be so modest. You’re clever, you’re resourceful. I understand that marriage scares you, and I respect that decision. But, if you’re ever up for it, how about a political alliance? We would get any nagging parents off our backs, and even better, it would be the finest combination of my ambition and your inventive mind.”

Jay’s eyes lit up. Spending his life with the coolest princess ever, his best and only friend, and not one of those princesses who never returned his love letters, sounded amazing. And working together just as he wanted to – even better.

“Pixal?”

“Yes, Jay?”

Jay shifted his weight from his left foot to his right nervously. “I’m being exiled in three days. You do know about that, right?” he asked, scratching the back of his neck.

Pixal nodded solemnly, not raising her head to face Jay, but keeping her glance on the lily in her hand. “It’s a common thing amongst parents today, isn’t it?” she asked. “Tower exile doesn’t seem like much of a punishment, more of a blessing.”

“I guess it would be nice to get away from all the media attention,” Jay said, thinking aloud.

“Do you happen to know the company that arranged your tower, though? I’m sure that each tower would have some way of escaping it, even if you don’t end up being rescued. And I’m equally sure each company would have their own quirks and ways of doing so.”

Jay frowned, trying to recall it. “Gothel Industries, I think?”

“What a foreign name,” replied Pixal.

“I think it’s Russian.”

“German.”

“Huh?”

“It’s actually German,” Pixal finally raised her head to face Jay with a smirk across her face. “Although, given our general limited knowledge about the Western side of things, I wouldn’t be surprised that you thought Russian. I mean, what is a German company doing, trying to sell its products here?”

Jay nodded as if to say that he knew what Pixal was talking about, even if he did not. “It’s cool that my tower is foreign and such, but when I’m locked inside, are you going to rescue me or anything? I am a prince, afterall, and I am in distr–”

“No.”

Jay looked insulted. “No?”

“You’re my partner, not my prince. I’m not a hero dashing to your rescue,” Pixal sighed in the same way irritable tutors did.

“Oh.”

“– and if you’re going to prove yourself worthy to work with me – which, by the way, you are –, you should try to endure some tower life.”

A frown crossed the young prince’s face. “What does solitary confinement even prove?”

Pixel plucked a forget-me-not from a nearby bush, placing it delicately behind her air. “Patience,” she said, her words falling out from her mouth in the same way that feathers glide down from the sky. “Tenacity. Endurance.”

“So, basically a bunch of three-syllable words?”

“Patience has two syllables,” Pixal corrected. “You’re probably aware of that already, but it never hurts to point it out.” The two had approached a vine of morning glories, and Pixal paused to admire their vibrant purple. “Obviously, if you survive your ordeal, you prove that you’re determined and persistent. However–“

Jay thought, why is there always a however?

“–However,” Pixal continued. “You could always try rescuing yourself.”

Jay stopped stroking the petal of one of the morning glories, and looked up, bewildered. “Rescue myself? What’s the point of that? I’ll just be a rebel, and rescuing myself isn’t princely or proper decorum. No one rescues themselves – princesses and princes all get rescued by their baes, right?”

Pixal rolled her eyes sharply at Jay’s use of the word bae. It was one of those slang terms that she never felt comfortable with. “Jay. Listen. I told you before – war is approaching. You know what happens in a war?”

“People die and the countryside gets destroyed?”

“Think more socially!”

“Economical benefits?”

“I was thinking more about how social expectations change, how new ideals emerge and in order to advance in this socially novel world, you need to rebel against what had been the mainstream.”

Jay nodded. He really didn’t understand what Pixal was talking about, but it sounded clever so it had to be something insightful. “So, I need to do something different because life is going to change?”

Pixal nodded. “That’s the gist of it, yes.”

“I guess I’ll consider it,” Jay said, looking wistfully at the horizon. “Rescuing myself… escaping from the tower and being left in the forest with no map, directions or food.” The idea of rescuing himself was far too terrifying. No wonder why it wasn’t proper for a young prince to do so.

“You do that,” said Pixal softly. “I trust you.” 


	4. Lying Is The Most Fun A Guy Can Have Without Taking His Clothes Off

Leaving had been easier than expected.

Goodbyes were a lot harder. Nya clung to her mother for at least a minute before they parted their hug. She spent the good portion of an hour running her hand along the weaponry in her smithery, silently praying that it would still be in business by the time she returns. And in a spacious, private room in her castle, Nya knelt down and lit a lone candle behind her father’s portrait. Unlike her mother’s hug or the final stroll around her shop, the dim glow of the candle offered no solace.

With nothing more than a bag of necessities slung over her shoulders, Nya departed without a glance at the village that previously held her whole life.

She travelled with remarkable grace and calm. Sleeping in trains and sneaking on the back of carts, walking on wooden shoes in the burning sun, hitchhiking sneakily on boats, Nya made it away from the island she lived on, and onto the peninsula.

* * *

Spring rain fell. In a small village, huddled in a long black coat, a young man stood, shielded from the rain by the canopy of shop roofs. He stared wistfully at a pair of red boots, tilting his head to get a better angle of the detail. The boots were of fine leather, neatly stitched and accented with red silk. They seemed so durable in all weathers, and so beautiful, too.

“No,” he murmured. “I can’t.” The last time he placed a pair of red shoes on his feet, he never wanted to take them off. They had been rough and worn, but they carried too much sentimental value for him to part with them.

He leaned his face against the window; his warm breath leaving condensed vapour on the cold glass.

“Sir, are you alright?”

Nya had been watching the poor guy lean against the window. He looked so tired and weary. Even though Nya tried not to concern herself with other people, she felt prompted to help.

“No, I’m not,” he murmured, more at his own reflection that the concerned girl who approached him. “I’m in love with the aesthetics of footwear I’ll never own.” Shooting a wistful glance back at the window, he turned around, facing Nya.

She blinked. Once, out of confusion, twice, because she was still confused. “Are you alright now?”

“Sorry about that. I get far too attached to shoes,” said the man. He clasped his hands together and dipped his head towards Nya. “Cole,” he said.

Nya studied his face carefully. His tanned face suggested that he, like her, was a commoner, but his wide eyes and mouth indicated that he mightn’t be from a nearby region. “The name’s Nya,” she said, bowing her body. _From our greetings alone, there’s already an evident cultural difference_.

“I’ve never met a Nya. Nice name,” he said, tilting his head back up. “You’re from the Land of the Rising Sun, let me guess.”

“How could you tell?”

Cole gestured to the sword hanging off her back. “Look at its make. It’s so iconic of your country.” He smiled, thinking of all the Rising Sun swords he had seen – in more ways than one. “Say, have you met the King there?”

Nya laughed. “They say the Emperor and Empress there are still recovering from their missing daughter. Surely they wouldn’t have time to meet with a lowly blacksmith.”

“It’s been, what, six years since her capture?” Cole said. “The princess could be thirteen or fourteen now.” Cole knew that a missing relative was not something one would simply ‘get over’, but he continued to criticise the monarchs. “It’s ridiculous that the Emperor would contain the forest beast in his own castle, especially in the reach of the princess,” he added. “I will never be able to understand royal logic. But, less about that. I’m honoured to meet a fellow traveller. How are you?”

They talked a bit more, or at least, they tried to. Cole said that he was just travelling around, trying to find enlightenment or something like that. “I was going to make this a well-funded expedition,” he added, “but that would ruin the point.” In return, Nya told him about her brother in great deal, and how she was going to save him, despite not being sure how.

It was a weird feeling – having someone who was willing to listen to her problems and not simply shrug her off as weird for being the reason why her brother was missing.

“So, you’re going to travel down the peninsula into the mainland?” asked Cole. “Funnily enough, so am I.”

“If you want, we could travel together,” suggested Nya. “A hero doesn’t get much done without her sidekick, after all." 

Cole frowned. “What are you implying?” He agreed to travel with Nya, though. Finding enlightenment could come in the form of friends. Nya was searching for her destiny – and Cole knew that destiny and enlightenment often came hand in hand.

The two mutually agreed to stop at the nearby bar to get a sense of what was happening. Nya burst in, rather dramatically, slamming the door against the wall. Heads turned as she strode in confidently. Cole followed, flipping up the collars of his coat to look inconspicuous. Apparently Cole wasn’t the only one who recognised Nya as foreign by the katana she had. A middle-aged man, the innkeeper, no doubt, approached the duo.

“Visitors? Foreign visitors in particular?” the innkeeper smiled. “What a day! We would be happy to accommodate travellers.”

“I’ve never seen someone from the Land of the Rising Sun in flesh,” said a bard, propped up in a corner, turning to Nya. “Are you really as isolated from the rest of the world as people say?”

Nya let out of a polite laugh. “I’m naturally isolated, sir. Whether that’s a common trait across my country, I’m unsure, but best not to judge a whole nation by the nature of one member, am I right?”

Laughs burst out across the bar, accented by cries of “hear! hear!”.

Cole sulked behind Nya, eyeing the others suspiciously. Looking across the bar, he noted his surroundings. Mainly people from the village, he noted, and full of young apprentices and scholars. It had been a while since the traveller ran into any people recently, and he was restless.

“Say,” he said, leaning over to the bartender so no one would hear. “Is there a _secret menu_ , say, around here?”

She slammed down a piece of paper on the desk. “Here, unless you’re looking for a different secret menu.”

Cole gave an inquiring smile and nod.

“In that case, upstairs two floors, turn left twice, fourth door on your right. The walls are soundproof.”

“Thank you,” Cole quietly passed her a small pouch of coins. Quickly gesturing to Nya, he added, “and look after her, for me, okay?”

The bartender smiled at him. “Don’t worry about your sister. Go have your fun.”

While Cole was gone, Nya did her best to make friends. First, the bartender who probed her with excessive questions about her “brother”, prompting Nya to realise that her hair and skin colour matching Cole’s closely, and them travelling together would probably make sense for the young lady to believe they were family. Nya used her charisma and charm to convince the bartender that Cole was not the man she should chase after, and instead suggested the lonely bard, still propped up in a corner, strumming a _qing_ and singing pathetic love songs. Nya thought the two would hit it on quite well, until the bartender came strolling back, mumbling about how the bard, despite his frequent love-songs, knew nothing at all. 

Then, the apprentices and scholars who were excited to hear about the world, but never managed to get enough funds for a trip, asked Nya to tell stories from her homeland. Nya recalled tales of a woodsman and his wife, who was beautiful and could turn into a Crane. The wife would sew silk, which sold for extravagant prices on the market, until the woodsman discovered she had been using her own feathers for the cloth. Another tale, of a woman who was in reality a nine-tailed-fox. And finally, Nya told a story about a princess who lived on the moon. “Kaguya was her name,” Nya said. “I loved her too much as a child.”

“That’s wonderful,” whispered one of them. “Who knew the world was full of tales so varied and beautiful?”

* * *

In three hours, Cole came back, in significantly better spirits than before.

“Where did you go?” Nya said, arching a concerned eyebrow. “Is this place really a brothel, because if it was, you didn’t have to be so _secretive_.”

Cole opened his mouth to either lie, or retort, or to just casually admit to what he had done.

Before he could say anything, a messenger burst in, holding out a scroll of paper. “Have you heard the news? The king in the north-west announced a competition for the hand of his son!”

“Oh, he’s gorgeous!” said a waitress in the corner. In her excitement, she nearly let the bowl of soup she was carrying slip out of her grasp.

“Well, he would be more gorgeous if he weren’t so… weird!” retorted a singer nearby.

Nya and Cole had raised their heads in unison when the messenger had burst in, and now, the two were even more interested in the news. “Who’s this guy… and how is he weird?” Nya asked the waitress.

The waitress placed the soup bowl in front of Nya. “Prince Jay is the son of King Ed Walker. They say he’s more interested in art and machinery than anything princes are usually into.” With a sigh, she added. “That doesn’t change the fact that he’s one of the handsomest heirs to his throne in generations, though.”

“You can thank his mother for that,” nodded the singer. “Still a weirdo, though.”

The messenger coughed, waiting for the disorder to die down so he could continue. “The prince has been placed in one of the many towers in one of the many forests. Whoever finds and rescues the prince from his ordeal will receive whatever prize the hero wishes, _even marriage to Prince Jay_.”

“Royals are so dramatic,” muttered a student in a corner, prompting giggles around her. “Locking their children in towers, who does that?” She turned around, waving her arms, as support for her comments roared in yells and hollers. “Am I right, people? Is the logic of kings and queens _truly_ failing us?” 

“She’s right,” Cole said to Nya. “Nobles are pretty ridiculous.”

Nya nodded at Cole. She hardly knew any nobles, so couldn’t give her opinion on what he just said. The messenger’s offer sounded interesting, but going to one of the many forests on the Peninsula would mean she had to take a detour, which could potentially mean lost time to save her brother.

“You think you might try to rescue this prince?” asked Cole. “Saving dudes in distress sounds like your thing.”

“I’ve read a lot of stories about girls who would have destroyed the world to save their cursed prince or husband,” she said. “Apparently, I’m one of those girls, and I’m searching for my brother-turned-bird. I’ll rather not let anything, not even a prince desperate for rescue, stand in my way.”

“Is he really going to stand in your way, though?” Cole asked. “Sometimes by helping others, you get what you want in life – and no, I’m not just spitting philosophy at you, because I am most definitely right.”

“Yeah, _right_ ,” Nya laughed. “Maybe we could rescue this prince, though. I could get money from the king to fund my journey and to help my mother, and you can get… whatever you want.”

Cole nodded solemnly. “Sounds good. Listen, Nya, do you have a plan?” He thought about the prizes. _Anything_ he wanted. The only thing Cole wanted was absolutely impossible unless King Walker was high heaven itself. The other thing – no one, not even an industrious king, could change a stubborn father’s mind. 

“Let’s hang around here, a bit more,” Nya said, pulling out the map given to her by her benefactor. “People gossip here so openly, and it’s near major trade routes. I say that we stay a day or so to get an idea of current events, then travel by the Northwestern Road.”

Cole nodded, studying the map. “And we’re intending to perhaps find this prince? How’ll that work with the journey you planned?”

“We’ll guide ourselves towards him with instinct and intuition,” Nya suggested, thinking of words said by her benefactor.

“You must really trust yourself.”

Nya rolled up the map, tugging it away from Cole. “It’s my destiny to rescue my brother. You have to trust yourself if you’re following your destiny.”

Cole thought about destinies and futures. It must be nice for Nya – having some set goal in life, with expectations and people who would support you. To be surrounded by admirers and to know exactly who to talk to in order to get help for your problems. And even better – it must be nice to trust yourself, because Cole certainly never did.

“Alright, then,” he said. “If you’re trusting yourself, then I guess I’ll have to trust that you know what to do.”

Nya beamed. “Then get ready to enjoy life in this village for a couple of days! The apprentices and scholars want me to hang out with them. Apparently they’re fond of folklore from my region. You should go tell some of yours to them!”

Cole wasn’t sure if he wanted to spend tomorrow morning hanging out with some energetic teenagers, but he decided to do so anyway.

* * *

Cole tried to recount some tales from his region, but his story-telling skills were incredibly sub-par. The students yawned and shifted, or looked at him with faces ridden with confusion. No matter how interesting the story he was telling, he would always fail to make the plot coherent, he would skip over major plots in the story, and he would awkwardly wave his hands whenever he couldn’t find the words to express himself.

Words, especially when storytelling, was not his medium.

Ten minutes or so of hanging out with the young adults, Nya had pulled Cole aside. “Can’t you do this a little better?” she asked, to which he responded that he couldn’t. He ended up storming out of the bar, much to the shock and sadness of the students. Telling folklores ended up bringing too many memories from his childhood for Cole, and either way, he was sure the village would hear of any famous Middle Kingdom tales eventually.

Nya spent most of her time with the students. Apparently, she enjoyed having people her age to talk to, even though their conversation topics were of frivolous and childish things. Cole assumed the way she was so eager to socialise was because of the alienation she implied to have experienced back home.

Cole ran errands for the town instead. He wanted to move around, to run, to do something with himself that didn’t involve pretty girls in darkness of night. The only frustrating thing was people were beginning to like him too much. They asked too many personal questions – where he was from, who his parents was, where he was going.

It felt weird – trying to blend in by being secretive, but the only way to truly blend in here was being open about himself.

* * *

It was obvious that he was so desperate to leave a couple of days later. Once it was morning, he leapt out of bed, quickly made himself presentable and threw his belongings together in his bag, before sprinting as fast as possible to the room Nya was in. He knocked on the door with such ferocity that he left a dent. Nya yelled at him to quiet down. Cole slumped against the wall, waiting for his friend to come out.

“Get some chill,” Nya said, five minutes later. Her hair was a mess, and so were her clothes, but she looked bright and energetic, as if she was ready to face the world. “Oh yeah,” she added, her tone suggesting it was a bit of an afterthought. Cole, I got you something.”

She handed him a wooden box. Inside it, lay a pair of fine boots – the same pair that Cole had been staring at when they first met. “The apprentices wanted to get me a parting gift,” she said. “I said I wouldn’t mind this pair of boots, since you were looking so forlornly at them. I know it’s supposed to be their gift for me, but you looked like you needed these shoes.”

Cole looked at Nya with utmost appreciation. The two had hardly known each other for two days, and she was willing to dedicate a gift from the students to him? “They’re gorgeous,” he said. “I can’t thank you enough.”

“In that case, put them on! I hope they fit,” she said, pushing the box into his hands.

Outside of the window he first saw them in, the boots were even more stunning. Cole held the soft fabric in his hands, running them over with a curious finger. The ribbons around the shoes were taut and rigid. Without a doubt, these boots had been made to last. The young traveller slipped on the pair. It felt like they had been made for him – the size was in every way perfect, and the dark red accented his black pants and dark tunic brilliantly.

In a brief moment, images flashed within his heads. A pair of dancing shoes, worn and torn. Rain and black umbrellas and ash. A rundown cottage and a glorious mansion. A beautiful maiden who lifted her floor-length dress to reveal a fine pair of red shoes and pink thighs. A man with pale skin and dark hair, his face etched with a confused, concerned gasp.

New shoes brought back old memories, good and bad, it seemed. Suddenly, Cole never wanted to take them off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case if you’re confused about place names, Japan will be referred to as ‘The Land of the Rising Sun’, China is the ‘Middle Kingdom’ and ‘the Center of the World’, and Korea is ‘the Peninsula’ and ‘the Land of Morning Calm’. All these names are derived from the meanings/translations of the real place names. So is this fanfiction really set in a fictional universe? No, not really. Fairytales are designed as an extension of the real world, after all.
> 
> I know while I’m basing this fanfic off European fairytales, I’m setting them in Asia because European fairytales are generally written so that they could be set anywhere and anytime, and since ninja are Japanese assassins, and I headcanon most of the ninja (particularly Kai, Nya and Lloyd) as Asian, it seems more suitable to give this work an Asian setting rather than an European one.


	5. Birds of a Feather

Flowers, vines and moss scaled up the brick walls of the tower. The architecture was intricately designed, impossibly beautiful, and the guards that brought Jay there muttered that it was a shame no one would be able to appreciate such a glorious piece of art. 

Jay certainly didn’t appreciate it. Beauty, design and structure in engineering and architecture was something that he admired to the highest degree, but in no way did he admire the concept of his tower.

The tower was dark and full of terrors. Jay tried not to let them consume him.

* * *

Pixal had told Jay she wouldn’t save him, but in a way, she did. Although she had worked out the exact position of the tower, instead of riding out to meet him herself, she would send a small robotic falcon, that would relay to him any letters or drawing Pixal sent to him, and would relay back any things Jay wanted to send back in return. Although Jay was sick of the restriction of his freedom of movement, and how he was confided to a place without people, the constant exchange of letters and drawings to Pixal did make him feel better. The tower-imprisonment hadn’t scared the prince because of how he was forced into a natural environment or how he couldn’t run and frolic anywhere, but how he couldn’t talk to anyone about his ideas – and Pixal fixed all of that for him through some complex machinery.

 _How on earth did you come up with such an intricate piece of technology?,_ he had asked in one of his letters. _Magic? Or just programming?_

 _Isn’t magic simply an extension of science?_ she had replied.

If the falcon weren’t the only way Jay could have talked to Pixal, he would have taken the bird apart on the spot. The engineering was gorgeous, paralleling the beautiful gold and bronze mechanical nightingale Jay had been rambling about to Pixal weeks before.

Eventually, Pixal revealed that she borrowed some blueprints of the King of the Island, and based her falcon off the intricate nightingale he had built. _You mentioned that you were fond of his bird_ , she wrote. _I was, as well, so I had to make a similar one._

She wrote letters, so often that sometimes Jay would have the falcon fly in five times a week. Her scrolls of paper piled up in Jay’s tower, covering the interior of his enclose like wallpaper and littering the floor to the point where he forgot its colour.

Two months into his imprisonment, and the letters stopped coming. The falcon returned to visit him, the bird acted as if it had a mind of its own, but it never carried any messages from Pixal. The prince began to worry, what if something happened to her? He couldn’t bear to touch the Falcon, much less see it, and everyday when it came by the window to visit, the prince would turn away, burying his head amongst cushions and discarded sketches of escape routes.

_Where was Pixal, and why wasn’t she saving him from himself?_

The loneliness hurt. Jay tried to distract himself with building small inventions out of anything he could find, or reading the few books around the towers. But he couldn’t escape with gliders that flew too fast towards the ground and crashed into splinters, neither could he escape through reading – the trashy romance books he enjoyed so much were only fun to read the first few dozen times around, and rereading Pixal’s letters felt like nostalgia punching him.

Jay stopped reading. He tried to write as much as he could but his ideas ran dry and so did his motivation. He spent his days lying around – sleeping, daydreaming, doing nothing. His boredom stretched on, like metal being pulled into wires. And like the wires, the prince grew thin, not bothering to eat anymore.

 _“I’m going to miss you when you’re gone,”_ Pixal had said, wistfully, before she had left.

Who knew it would be Jay, with pain in his gut, sprawled out on the floor, missing his friend instead? 

The only comfort Jay got were the birds. Sometimes they would perch on his tower window and talk to him. Back home, Jay talked to birds as much as he frolicked in flowers, even though all birds near his house tended to simply make bad puns and dry jokes. These birds tried to rally to him news from the outside world, but it would just be lot of the babble of bird noises. Despite that, Jay appreciated them.

* * *

“Listen, how are we going to find the position of the prince?” Cole had asked. “He’s in a dense forest. That could be anywhere in this country.”

“We could talk to the sun, of course,” Nya said, in a tone that suggested speaking to celestial objects was completely normal. “Of course, the position of the sun is unfortunately rather difficult to find exactly, so instead, we’ll have to talk to something similar.” No sooner had she spoken her words, she raised her head to find a dove, perching on a branch above them.

Cole frowned, his thick eyebrows knitting together. Talking to birds wasn’t an uncommon occurrence. In fact, it was a gift that many had, and currently, one very easy to pick up. But, how on earth would a bird know where a simple prince was located? He would have to talk to hundreds, if not thousands, of them.

Nya turned to him. “So, can you speak to birds?”

“Yes.”

She asked again. “Then, would you like to speak to them?”

There was no immediate response from her travelling partner. Nya frowned in worry. She hadn’t wanted to embarrass him, or put him in a situation he didn’t want to be in. “Look, Cole, if you’re uncomf–“

Cole took in an intake of breath, breathing slowly. “Sorry,” he said. “A lot of people asked me if I could something, but no one’s asked me if I wanted to. Your question just threw me off a little.” He sighed. “I’ll do it. I haven’t bothered talking to birds in a while.” 

The young man walked up towards the dove. It turned its head slightly, as if it were acknowledging him. “Hi,” he said. “Would you happen to know whether Prince Jay resides in this forest?”

The dove twittered, hopping from its branch to a much lower one. Opening its mouth, it sang:

_You seek the prince dancing with flowers,_

_Concealed by bricks and vines he cowers._

_Kywitt, kywitt, beautiful travellers, follow me:_

_A gift for those who asked the lords of the trees._

“Well then,” said Nya. “What are we waiting for?”

The bird hovered into the air in front of the two, before sharply turning left, gesturing with a wing for the duo to follow.

They followed, leaping over tree roots and keeping the dove well in sight. It fluttered through trees like a dart, turning corners and dodging branches. The two travellers attempted to do the same. The dove flew into a clearing, and let out a loud screech. If Cole hadn’t known better, he would have called it a mating call, but the screech was more than that. It was a battle cry.

Birds from all directions fluttered in. It was breathtaking – a cyclone of colour. The birds twittered and sang in union. “The prince is one of us,” they chattered. “He is our blue Jay. Our precious little bluebird.”

The dove fluttered amongst these birds, before resting firmly on Cole’s shoulder. “Thank you for asking us,” it said. “There are hardly those who appreciate the lives and knowledge of birds in this world.”

Asking birds was like asking the messengers of the Sun and the Moon, Nya noted. Perhaps, they might also know where Kai went. She made a quick mental note to ask them about a magical nightingale.

“There two are here to rescue Prince Jay,” said the dove to the other birds. “So many others in this forest have tried and all of them were not worthy.”

“They do not appreciate the true lords of the forest,” chorused the birds.

Nya frowned, wondering. “Did they not think to say you for help?”

“Well, no,” said the dove. “Some asked for help, but we saw littering and lots of dishonesty and other things us birds disapprove of. You’ve seemed nothing but compassionate since we saw you.”

 _If only that was truly the case_ , thought Cole.

The dove dug its claws further into Cole’s shoulder. “We will show you where the prince is located. But it’s your job to actually break him free.”

“Let us come with you,” said the birds. “We want to wish our dearest prince farewell.”

“It would be an honour,” Cole said, stroking the dove still resting on his shoulder.

* * *

Like before, Nya and Cole weaved between tree branches and roots, accompanied by a battalion of birds. 

“Only birds reach the tower,” said the dove, perching precariously on Cole’s shoulder as he leapt over various parts of trees. “We can carry you to the opening in the tower, but I doubt we have enough birds to carry the prince down as well.”

“I say Nya should rescue him,” Cole gestured to his partner. Nya was well-build, with defined muscles, but Cole knew that dancers often weighed more and had more muscle than the kinds of athletes Nya would be. “I doubt you birds could carry me.”

“Are you calling us weak?” twittered a woodpecker.

A sparrow fluttered along with the woodpecker. “Rude.”

Cole’s eyes widened in shock. “I didn’t intend to offend, plea–" 

“Don’t worry, we’re just jesting. We all think you’re lovely, right guys?” interrupted the dove, turning his head to his fellow birds, who all chirped enthusiastically. “Oh look, we’re here. Good luck.”

Cole saw the tower, and he gasped instantly.

It was gorgeous. The architecture was of a style he had never seen before. It was odd, but refreshingly interesting. The man approached the tower, looking over at the vines that spiraled around it, and the sharp-thorned flowers that followed these vines. 

That was when he spied a strange contraption in the bottom.

“A convenient loudspeaker, huh?” said Cole, recognising it. His voice reverberated into the large cone.

Jay had been lying in bed, rereading “The Knight’s Guard” for the upteemth time, before he immediately pulled himself up. The loudspeaker. Someone was here, outside, speaking to him. The prince skipped over to the window, pushing back his messy auburn locks to get a clear view of the bottom of the tower.

“What?” he said, shouting down below. He saw people – a girl with a face framed by dark hair, clutching onto a katana, a muscular guy with equally dark hair, and his birdy friends. “What’s going on? What’s happening?”

“My name is Nya,” said the girl. She swung her sword with masterful grace. “I’m here to save you.”

Jay gasped. Someone else managed to find him, nested in the dense forest. Not to mention this princess, heroine, whatever, she was gorgeous. Sure, she looked a little plain, but her strong face was turned up into an ambitious grin, and the way she moved – wow. Although he was twenty feet above ground, he could felt her confident radiating. It was contagious.

“That’s amazing!” he shouted back. “You’re amazing!”

She laughed. “Why all this praise? I haven’t done anything yet.”

Jay pulled back from the window. It was so exciting – someone actually cared about him enough to find him!

“Just watch,” he had heard her say, as birds flocked around Nya, who was tugging on a long piece of fabric. The birds brought her up in the air, rising slowly for her to reach the window.

She floated gracefully with the birds, like a phoenix, until she was up to the height of the tower’s window. Jay saw her clearly, and found that her grin was more infectious up close.

He smiled, a shy blush on his cheeks. “I didn’t think anyone would alliance with the birds,” Jay said, once Nya leapt through the window, crashing down onto the concrete floor of his cell.

“They were very helpful,” she said, inspecting her surroundings. Lots of letters and scribbles on paper, Nya noted. A few furious ink splashes and tally marks etched into the walls. Many boxes of untouched food. Trashy teenage romance novels that Nya had enough dignity not to read, looking very well thumbed. 

The prince nervously watched her continue inspecting the cell. Nya stalked around the cell, pacing it slowly and steadily, before pausing on a corner.

Nya bent down until she was eye-level with the bottom of the wall. It seemed a little bit discoloured from the rest of the wall. It felt awkward and wrong, and Nya thought something might be interesting about it. 

She pushed apart piles of letters that covered the discoloured part of the wall. More boxes of food? Nya frowned. How much food did this guy have, and why was so much of it untouched? Pushing the food apart, she found something, and gasped.

“A lock,” observed Nya, as she pulled the last box away. She slid her sword back into her sheath (and was slightly surprised she held onto it for so long), and pulled out her dragger instead. Upon closer inspection, it was a simple lock. They were easily picked, and Nya would have scoffed at one back at her village. She dug the tip of the blade in.

The lock fell apart, revealing a crude number pad. Nya frowned, studying it carefully. There were still marks from the oils left by the previous user, and they rested upon the first fourth numbers exactly. Nya punched in 1234, and the wall of the tower swung open, revealing a stairway.

“That was way too easy,” she muttered. “You sure it isn’t a trap?”

Jay’s mouth fell open. Escaping the tower, it was so simple. He could have done it ages ago. The thing was – even if he had known how to escape, the prince knew that he would have chosen to stay. It was weird to admit, but he _wanted_ to be saved. Jay knew he wasn’t the kind of hero the bards sang of, and didn’t want to step out of line by trying to be that kind of hero.

“No, I’m sure not,” he said. “Tower security is designed to be simple enough for princes to crack, I suppose." 

Nya laughed. This kid had a lot of sass, even against his own demographic. “Well spoken, but wouldn’t you like to get out of here?”

Jay nodded at Nya’s question, too busy grabbing a few letters and doodles to bring with him. He looked across at the mountain of letters he had exchanged from Pixal, and the even bigger mountain of doodles. He briefly wondered if he could take all of them… but thought better not too. They reminded him too much of his imprisonment, and Jay would rather put that incident behind him.

Once he got the things he wanted to take with him, the prince raised a hand awkwardly. “Look, I’ve always wanted my rescuer to carry me bridal style, so if you’re willing…” Jay stammered.

Nya shrugged, leaning down to hit the back of his knees with her left arm, causing the prince to tumble into her right. “This alright with you?” she asked.

A beam crossed the prince’s face. “This is _exactly_ how I pictured my rescue.”

Down the stairs, the two went, with Nya holding Jay carefully in her arms. Jay took a brief moment to marvel at the intense architecture of the building, and wondered why someone would put so much effort into something that no one would see. Nya didn’t bother to look at any intricate details in the towers. She admired weapons and upper torsos, not buildings designed by people from the other side of the world.

“One question: how did you find me?” the prince wrapped his arms around Nya, as she carried him down. “Apparently so many people tried and failed!”

Nya carried Jay gracefully. He hardly seemed to weigh anything at all, feeling like feathers in her arms. “First of all, we’ve never been the failing types.” 

A frown crossed Jay’s face. “We?”

“Cole and I. He’s kinda like my brother. Listen, I’ll explain later.”

The two reached the bottom of the steps, met by Cole and a whole congregation of birds of a kaleidoscope of different colours, different breeds, and different sizes. There was a huge clamour – birds singing, squawking, twittering. The sound polluted the air, and you2 could hardly hear oneself think.

Jay gasped at the sight of them, swinging out of Nya’s arms to run towards the birds. They flocked towards him, landing around his body and on his arms. “Sorry,” he said to the duo with a sheepish grin. “I’m really fond of these guys. When you’re stuck in a forest in a tower, you end up picking up birdspeak.”

Nya laughed. The prince’s energy and youth was adorably infectious.

“And this guy is Cole, I’m guessing?” asked Jay, as he skipped over to her travelling partner, arms still covered with birdies. “From what Nya said, you sound almost-as-equally cool!”

Cole shot Nya a look of confusion, and another look of help-save-me-I’m-suffocating as Jay threw his arms around Cole.

“You two!” said the prince. Although energetic, his voice was strained, as if he hadn’t spoken in days. “You’re both great! I haven’t seen a person in months, much less two people! This is wonderful!”

“You’re wonderful,” Nya said. “Look, we’re going to get you out of here.”

She reached for his hand, and Jay gladly accepted, smiling shyly. Taking yet another glance at his surroundings, he realised something. Protected by birds or not, the trio were still stuck in a forest. _How were they supposed to get out?_

Cole walked up beside Jay, towering over his small build. “We’re walking. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Are you kidding?” Jay said, almost jumping up and down. “I haven’t been outside in ages! I would be honoured to walk with you two.”

“In that case,” Nya said, still clinging to Jay’s hand. “Let’s begin our journey to get you back.”


	6. Not a Bard Idea

“And that was the story of how my mother never let me touch an oven, ever again.”

Cole slammed an empty cup of sake on the table, leaning back in his chair smugly. Recalling his country’s folklore was a talent that may have escaped him, but the young traveller could still share his own anecdotes with ease.

“Your mother sounds like a riot!” Jay gave some gratuitous applause.

“She was,” Cole smiled enigmatically. “And unforgettable, too. I think you two would have gotten along.”

“’Scue me,” interrupted a rough voice.

The three had resided in a quaint pub, with a few decent rooms in its side-inn. Nya had thought the drinks there were too washed down with water and the food too pickled. There were better bars, better pubs. She bit back her thought, keeping her complaints down. Heroes on quests were not meant to criticise their surroundings, but rather to work on improving them. Meanwhile, prince Jay constantly glanced around, trying to soak in his surroundings. When else would he get a chance to mingle with commoners like this, to see what life would be like if he had no royal duties or responsibilities? Cole was simply thankful for the food.

The rough voice belonged to a bard. He would string out short verses, five lines in length and usually mocking. In his knapsack, he carried scrolls of cheap paper, which he handed out to people for two coins. “Do I know you?” the bard looked at Cole, arching a quizzical eyebrow. “I think I’v–“

“I have a common face,” Cole said stiffly. “My father was a prolific man.”

“Ah, that must be it,” said the bard. “I’m the music for tonight, by the way. How might I entertain you?”

“By going away.”

The bard gasped, and dramatically put a hand over his chest. “Oh, you cruel, cruel man.”

Nevertheless, he showed no sign of leaving. Cole glared at him until he did.

“Not a fan of music?” Jay queried.

“On the contrary,” Cole fiddled with the edge of the bone china teacup. “I can appreciate decent music.”

The prince snorted, and tried to conceal his giggles by faceplanting onto the table. “I love you guys! Wow, honestly, what wit–“.Unable to finish his sentence, he spluttered and kept his head down.

On the edge of the table, Nya had finished her food early. Propped up over her katana, she looked every inch the bold adventurer.

Had it only been a week or so since she departed from home? A week or so since she cut the edges of her hair, and took up a destiny to rescue her brother?

So much could happen in a week.

She recalled the enchanter’s commands: to find her commands. Where was Kai now? In the cold North, the enchanter had said. Kai consumed her thoughts – her brother, the brother she never knew. What would he think of her? Would he despise her, for her birth brought his transformation? Would he appreciate how she would go to the end of her world to find him? Would he even be properly human – and remain a bird forever?

They were supposed to be siblings. Nya would not have been the breadwinner for her and her mother, working endlessly to support them after her father’s death. The two would have been working side-by-side, fighting side-by-side, perhaps even adventuring togeth–

But would she even be here, if it weren’t for Kai? Perhaps, without his disappearance, she wouldn’t have met Cole or Jay.

Nya watched the two. Jay had his head on the table, giggling profusely over something Cole said. He caught her staring, grinned and awkwardly waved.

She grinned back.

“I hope these circumstances aren’t too primitive for you, Your Highness,”

“Are you kidding?” Jay said. “We could be sleeping in trees, for all I care! What matters is you got me out of that tower.”

“It wasn’t that hard,” Nya hoped that statement didn’t come off as bragging. “Actually _locating_ your tower was hard, and the birds did most of the work.”

The prince nodded. “I wonder how they’re doing.” He missed the birds. They had been so fond of him. Even when Pixal’s letters had stopped, the birds never failed him.

“I mean, they _can_ speak. Maybe they’ll send news?” Nya suggested. “But why would they c–“

Before she could finish, the bard from before dived between the two. “News?” he said. “Oh, I’ve got news, alright.”

“I thought you were a bard?” Cole glared.

The bard glared back. “Well, arrogant little adventurer, where do you think musicians get the inspiration for their songs from?”

Jay did not seem to recognise the tension between Cole and the bard, and slightly tapped the latter on the shoulder. “Sorry to interrupt, but I believe you mentioned something about the news?”

The bard pulled out his knapsack, the one stuffed with paper scrolls. “And music doesn’t always pay, you know. Two coppers.”

“The news?” Nya asked, as Jay passed two coins to the bard-slash-newspaper-vender. _Naturally_ , she thought, _the first thing a once tower-locked royal would wish to read._

“Of course!” Jay took the paper. “Princess Pixal says it’s important to keep updated to current events. It makes you more world-wise.” He propped up the paper, took one glance, and frowned. “No,” he said, his utterance lost to the clamor of the pub. “No way.”

“Kid, you alright?” Cole looked up in concern.

Nya attempted to pat him comfortingly on the shoulder but, unsure how, lightly punched him instead.

Jay said nothing more. He simply turned the newspaper around for Nya and Cole to read, the two squinting at the small print of the faded pages.

On the paper was a black and white photograph – a new technological development, one that Jay was very impressed by. Princess Pixal Charming was gesturing to a robot, and behind her, stood several more robots, which looked of a similar make. Cryptor, the caption under the photo gave the name of the robot.

“She’s been amassing an army,” Jay said. “How– wow.”

He thought back to all the notes he had sent her during his imprisonment – the plans, the blueprints, the sketches. He had offered suggestions, ideas of improvement, and she sent back even better ideas and letters of approval.

Jay’s thoughts wandered to the falcon.

It had been a while since he last saw it.

His heart clenched.

Those letters from his best friend had meant _everything_ to him.

“We had an alliance!” he said. “I promised her to alliance. I forgot if it got written down on paper or not but–“

“Kid,” Cole said. “You’re rambling.”

Jay buried his head in his arms. “I’m not a damsel in a tower anymore! I’m free! And I don’t wanna fight in a war. I don’t even know how to fight!”

He had been riding on an emotional high – a wave of positive emotion that was impossible to curb. Jay had been overly optimistic ever since Nya busted him out of his imprisonment, and he thought nothing at all could put a stopper on his happiness. Every negative emotion had been pushed to the back of his mind; he wanted nothing at all to distract him from his joy.

All those negative emotions reached its peak.

And Jay began to cry.

The young prince softly wailed, tears streaking down his cheeks and onto his shirtsleeves. A few other people in the pub looked away, embarrassed. Jay knew he was making a scene, knew that he was causing more trouble for Cole and Nya, the two people he never would want to cause any trouble for.

This was exactly how a prince would act: crying to get his way, and being a downright bother to the cause. Jay steeled himself with that realisation, and finally looked up from the table, trying to hide his whimpering sulk.

“I don’t want to be a prince. I don’t want to go home. I want to stay with you two, join you guys on an adventure. Whatever.”

Nya smiled at him with a smile that set his heart aflutter. “And I would appreciate it that.”

“Welcome to the party,” Cole grinned.

A party. An _adventuring_ party. Epics got written about people in adventuring parties, and so did ballads.

(Though, the ballads usually sang about how adventuring parties would tear through a town and wreck it completely.)

Jay struggled to find a word to convey his feelings. Awesome? Radical? _Sweet_? No, those were too casual. He needed to voice his gratitude for his acceptance in the grandest way possible!

He coughed, and enunciated.

“Neat.”

Gods, no, that was a terrible expression. Jay wanted to bury his face in his hands again, but didn’t want to make a sense. What if Nya and Cole thought he was a pain? What if they revoked their offer for him to join them?

Instead, the two were still smiling, no sign of doubt on their faces.

_For now_ , Jay thought, and chided himself for being so negative.

Nya seemed bored of her own quiet contemplation, and waved the barmaid over to order another drink. When that was dealt with, she turned to Cole.

“Hey, dude? I would like to let you know: I called you my sidekick once. And I’m sorry. You’re not my sidekick.”

Raising his own glass to his lips critically, Cole arched an eyebrow. “I think I could well reasonably be sidekick material. Are you doubting me?”

“No, no, I meant that you’re your own person,” Nya said, defensively.

“Fine, as my own person, I decide that I would like to be your sidekick.”

No reasonable man would want to play second fiddle in someone else’s story. But Cole was not a reasonable man. To be a sidekick was safe, he reckoned. To support someone else and to dedicate yourself to that meant that you avoided a great deal of hurt.

He was scared of being in control of himself – more scared than he would like to admit.

“Nya, I would love to be your sidekick!” Jay cut in.

“Personally, you strike me as more love interest material,” Cole said, throwing an eyebrow wiggle in Nya’s direction to get his point across. “Just so it’s clear, though, Jay – you’re too scrawny to be my type.” 

(It took a good five seconds for the prince to work out what Cole meant.)

As the tabletop conversation dimmed around him, Jay scanned through the rest of the articles – something about how the Middle Kingdom lost its famed nightingale in a freak wind, an interview with a Middle Kingdom nobleman, and in the back of the paper, did some Sudoku puzzles, a trendy new game from the Land of the Rising Sun.

Tomorrow, the party would continue their trek to his kingdom.

Jay would see his garden again, his room again, with those familiar blueprints and project prototypes. He could, once more, run through those familiar hallways and read romance novels by bay windows. He could– he could– he _would_ have to leave that kingdom.

That life was a life for the old Jay. The pathetic prince lost in his own world, the guy who just wanted to be rescued.

What sort of prince did he want to be now? Jay had no idea. But he was going to be a great one, he swore to that.

He closed his eyes peacefully in quiet contemplation.

His thoughts flickered to Pixal’s army again.

_I really do hope she knows what she’s doing_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a while, hasn't it?
> 
> Shoutout to "luna", for inspiring me to kick this fic back up again! :D


End file.
